


GIGO (Garbage In, Garbage Out)

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fantasizing, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imperfect input could invariably be blamed for imperfect output, but only if the data testing procedures were faulty, and in Rodney's case, he'd been sloppy in his testing. Very sloppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GIGO (Garbage In, Garbage Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Mischief
> 
> AU in that Col. Carter never gets replaced by Woolsey. yay.

_On two occasions I have been asked, "Pray, Mr. Babbage, if you put into the machine wrong figures, will the right answers come out?" ... I am not able rightly to apprehend the kind of confusion of ideas that could provoke such a question._

—Charles Babbage, _Passages from the Life of a Philosopher_

 

Rodney didn't like people very much. They were the worst kind of complex system—the unstable and unpredictable variety, especially when additional people were introduced as factors. People such as himself. He could never parse the output from the input he put into them, and often he couldn't be bothered to try.

There were unreasonable exceptions, individuals he didn't altogether mind having in his proximity—this list changed daily, hourly, and sometimes by the minute—but though he didn't mind having them around, there was always some risk that feeling wouldn't be entirely mutual, which set up something of a negative feedback loop.

He was aware of it. He didn't always let this awareness have an impact on his behavior, but Rodney was constantly filtering vast amounts of input for truly critical, necessary data. It wasn't his fault if what he considered to be vital didn't always match up with what others might construe to be so.

In the multitude of factors of importance—those he prioritized just below sleep, sustenance, coffee, _staying alive_ —somewhere in there, he was hazily conscious of an outlier, a slouching, smirking anomaly that had become more prominent than peripheral, among a few acquaintances that had already gained an irrational share of his attention. But there was one voice he listened to more, one hand that grabbed him and he followed, and—this was ridiculously true—one presence whose absence was noted and, oddly, Rodney was forced to actively go out and seek in that case.

It was absurdly annoying.

He found Sheppard counting guns. And if that weren't an utter waste of the man's time—of any person's time, but especially of the intellect Rodney knew the Colonel insisted on hiding behind two ingenuously squirrely eyebrows—Rodney didn't know what was.

"Hey, McKay. What brings you to my humble place of work?"

Rodney knew John knew this was when he usually swung by to grab Rodney for dinner. John should right now be lounging with one hip dangerously close to edge of Rodney's monitor, as if drawing attention both to the precarious nature of Rodney's lab set-up (three monitors in such a narrow space really was pushing it) and the small sliver of skin exposed by John's shirt hiking up when he crossed his arms. Approximately three centimeters of skin, no more. Perhaps John wasn't aware of the gap, but Rodney certainly was, because John didn't often expose anything of himself, and so Rodney had been robbed of even that, because John was in here counting guns, for pity's sake, instead of coming to Rodney's lab, and he really should respond, shouldn't he?

"Oh, I just thought you might need some assistance. I know how much trouble you have with math."

John gave him a tight grin, which meant Rodney had scored a point, because although John liked to play stupid, he actually hated it when Rodney treated him as if he were. 

"Thanks a lot, but I'm almost finished in here. Wanna grab some chow?"

"I could eat."

John tilted him a look and went back to counting, his fingers dancing in pairs down the rows while his lips moved silently. Rodney shot in random numbers out loud to try to mess him up. John was unfazed, though, and marked the final tally in his tablet before giving Rodney a cuff to the back of his head for his troubles.

"Ow?" Rodney hid a smile as he noted the complete lack of sting to the blow.

"Get a move on; it's pork fried rice night."

John knew, of course, that what passed for pork and rice in this galaxy were among Rodney's favorites, especially when delicately fried in Athosian lemic oil in the giant woks their cooks had brought from Earth. 

Rodney beat John out the door.

:::

Morning, as usual, came earlier than Rodney was prepared for, and he clutched at the remnants of his dream, in which he quite reasonably solved Radinsky's Paradox using NSPACE sets. 

He was stumbling out into the hallway, certain a cup of steaming hot coffee would solidify the conjecture, when approximately six feet of sweaty Colonel crashed into him, strong hands holding him up when Rodney staggered.

"Jeez, McKay," Sheppard said. "Didn't see you there. You all right?" 

"I'll remind you these hallways aren't your personal jogging track," Rodney said both to John and to Ronon, who pulled to a stop just beyond them.

"Yeah, yeah." John was still jogging in place as if he didn't want to lose his cardio-vascular mojo or whatever. His hair was damp and even more disheveled than usual, his face flushed from said-same heart-pumping exercise, and the carefully drawn logic of Rodney's Radinsky conjecture collapsed like the false construct it was.

"Just, go away." Rodney shooed him. "Beat it." 

"Good morning to you, too, Sunshine," John said as he and Ronon jogged off.

On that omen, the day proceeded as expected. Rodney went to the lab to find only half a cup of coffee waiting in the bottom of the carafe and had to brew a fresh pot to kick-start his brain, only to discover someone had reset all his saved search parameters for the Ancient database. This meant he'd have to redo hours of work from the previous evening. 

He pounded the lab table in frustration, almost apoplectic with rage, and the entire lab went quiet and still. No one dared move as he eyed all his silent scientists working at their desks. 

The telltale lack of breathing on Dr. Lobo's part gave him away. 

"Dr. Lobo," Rodney pronounced, voice arctic cool. "If I might have a word with you."

Lobo actually shuddered before rising from his desk.

"My office," Rodney said, because he knew his voice would come through the walls in muffled shouts of wordless rage, which would be an even more brilliant deterrent against any future transgressions. 

Lobo stuttered through his explanation about trying to fine-tune the results to filter by designated discipline, when the parameters had been lost. "There must be something wrong with the API, Dr. McKay—"

And Rodney lost it, because there was nothing wrong with the API, he wrote the API, thank you very much, and the only errors in the API were between the chair and the keyboard. He laid into Lobo, starting with the man's inability to distinguish between programming and typing, and ending by shredding the pathetic fallacies rifling Lobo's Masters thesis in flexible database architectures. 

Rodney then sent Lobo off to get him some muffins from the mess and sat down to reset his search parameters. And check the code on his API, which was perfect, of course. He couldn't reproduce the error no matter how fumble-fingered he attempted to be. He couldn't imagine what the idiot had done. Perhaps he'd been typing with his nose.

Eventually, someone shoved a muffin under Rodney's chin.

"So," Sheppard said, sitting on the edge of Rodney's desk, "I heard there was a rumpus."

Rodney grabbed the muffin and shoved a bite into his mouth, then glared. 

"You know, a dust-up. A ruckus." John wiped his fingers on his shirt and then let his hand rest on his thigh close to his holster. 

Rodney continued glaring. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing. Except, you know, ripples." John shrugged. "Bad vibes."

"Vibes? Did you just say 'vibes?' Tell me you didn't go to college at one of those hippie-commune surfer schools. Cal Tech, Berkeley, or Santa Cruz or whatever. Chico State." Rodney took another big bite of muffin and washed it down with some cold coffee. 

John's eyes narrowed and he stood up. "Just a friendly warning," he said. "Don't know what's got your boxers in a bunch, but you might want to ease up a little on the public executions before Carter decides to get involved."

Rodney watched him leave, then looked down at the remainder of his muffin. It was the rare good kind, chocolate-chip banana. Real chocolate chips, real banana. 

:::

The problem was Rodney knew what had his boxers twisted up, and it had nothing to do with unproven paradoxes (an NSPACE set! Seriously! Dream logic was ridiculous) or recalcitrant database programmers, and everything to do with human complex systems and undefined, non-deterministic counterparts of the pointy-eared variety. 

They were both irritating to be around, and indispensable to Rodney's sense of contentment, a contradiction that caused Rodney no end of cognitive dissonance. 

"Zelenka, what the hell is this?" Rodney said, staring down at his lab table. He'd only stepped away for a few minutes to harangue Dr. Bhagat about her absurd computation time priority request. "Who put this here?" he said, pointing to the catalog magazine. He picked it up and flipped through it, then quickly became engrossed. It contained myriad lab and scientific supplies, widgets and beakers and LEDs—just chock full of the kinds of gadgets they were constantly running short of around the labs. Plus, it had countless ridiculous toys that made Rodney instantly suspicious as to the source of the catalog.

"Never mind," Rodney said, and sat down to start highlighting his choices. His mood had changed for the better.

:::

On M4H-255, their team found an Ancient outpost two klicks away from the gate. There was no apparent native population, and John, Teyla, and Ronon quickly become bored after scouting a perimeter and having nothing to do but sit around and wait for Rodney to make a determination on whether or not the site contained anything interesting at all for them to take back. Rodney heard them chattering on the radio—Ronon had volunteered to stand guard for a while, and John and Teyla were sparring with shaved-off tree branches.

Their clacking and grunting and huffing in his ear were very distracting.

_"Very good, John,"_ Teyla said, sounding surprised, and then a moment later, John yelped, and Teyla laughed breathlessly.

 _"Okay, yeah. I get ambitious,"_ John said ruefully. 

Rodney blinked away the images in his head and focused on the data from the terminal he'd just managed to initialize. Ancient text scrolled before his eyes, and he paused it and screenshot it with his tablet in order to analyze it with their somewhat effective instant translator. 

What he read made him tap his comm. "Get in here."

John and Teyla came running in, both of them sweaty with leaves clinging to various parts of their bodies, John's expression tight. 

Rodney pointed to the screen. "There's a reference to mining and Ancient construction facilities located here on this planet." 

John's eyebrows went nuts. "You mean this is where—"

"Probably where they built the materials for Atlantis, yes, and possibly the jumpers, or even maybe—"

John grinned. "Don't say it. You'll jinx it." 

"How long will it take for you to retrieve the information, Rodney?" Teyla asked.

"I've got the coordinates already, but I want to download the rest of the data."

"Huh. This place turned out to be a gold—"

The radio clicked. _"I'm hearing some wildlife. Big."_

"Oh, now who jinxed us?"

John and Teyla were already sprinting down the corridor. Rodney started his data dump and waited for the gunfire to start. If they really needed him, they'd holler. Loudly. After all this time, Rodney was still a terrible shot. Oh, he was fine on the firing range, but his percentage dropped significantly when something—Wraith, howling purple monkeys, or once, incredibly, flying gerbil-things—tried to eat him. He tended to rely on hysterical luck.

This time, it was something that had John laughing and snorting in disbelief, until Rodney heard him curse. _"Ow, fuck. Motherfuck. Watch out—they kick like kangaroos. Ronon, try to herd them that way—shit!"_

There was the sound of Ronon's blaster firing twice. 

_"Thanks, buddy. Crap. Wait, there's two more!"_

_"John, I do not believe it's helpful to—"_

_"Not going to—"_

_"Look out!"_

Rodney rose to his feet in indecision, then heard more thrashing, and then John giving the all-clear. 

_"Well, that was fun. Let's do it again sometime."_

_"I believe they were simply after our supplies."_

_"I think they like the smell of leather. One of 'em bit my coat."_

_"Then why was that one trying to hump me, huh? Christ."_

Rodney nibbled his lip, but couldn't resist. "Never found an alien you couldn't—"

_"Oh, shut up. I just got kicked in the gut pretty good. And another one scratched me up—I think he was jealous of the first one."_

"Oh, now you're just asking for me to—"

 _"Are you finished yet or what? 'Cause there might be a few more of these guys waiting around for a chance to kick_ your _ass."_

"Finishing. Finishing." Rodney checked the download, and sure enough it had completed while he was busy listening to the adventure trio. He unclipped his leads and got everything stowed, then headed out into the blistering sunlight. His team was clustered, backs to the structure and guns out pointing toward the woods.

At their feet was a trio of fuzzy creatures. Except for the floppy ears and overly large hind legs, they looked not unlike man-sized koala bears, with white chests and dense, soft-looking fur.

Rodney lifted his head and gave John a sardonic look, fully intending to razz him.

"Let's beat feet," John said as soon as Rodney opened his mouth, and the three of them started walking, leaving Rodney scrambling to catch up.

"Vicious kangas, eh?" Rodney said as soon as they were on the trail.

"Keep it shut and keep moving," John said, and despite the fact he had a bandage wrapped around his arm and was favoring his left side, he insisted on keeping Rodney hemmed in the middle all the way back to the Gate.

Rodney put it on his mental list to cue up _Tank Girl_ for that evening's movie.

:::

Keller had appalling things to say about hematomas and the bacteria rife in animal claws and made Sheppard wait for ice packs and antibiotics.

The rest of the team drifted off, but Rodney decided to stay and keep John company while analyzing the data from the outpost. 

"You don't have to stick around," John said more than once, a bruise growing dark on his cheek. He shifted restlessly while a corpsman rigorously cleaned his wound. 

"Seriously," John said a few minutes later. "I know you've got stuff to do."

"And look at me doing it," Rodney said absently. The mining operations were apparently conducted hundreds of kilometers from the gate; they'd have to return and investigate via jumper.

A few minutes later, it became apparent why John was so eager for Rodney to leave—Keller wanted to give him some shots, the kind that could only be administered in his gluteus.

Rodney crowed. 

"Laugh it up," John grumbled when Keller pulled the privacy curtain. "You'll get yours someday, McKay."

Then Rodney heard the jingle of Sheppard's belt, and Jennifer giving him an amused warning, and then John's softly muttered "Fuck," when she jabbed him. 

Rodney was a little jealous of the view she was enjoying, and the laugh she made in response to something John said. 

Shutting down his tablet, Rodney headed over to the control tower to give Sam his AAR.

:::

 _Tank Girl_ was a huge success. Teyla burst into delighted laughter during the song and dance number. Ronon became a huge fan as soon as the mutant kangaroo Rippers appeared and the kill-count started going up. He also seemed to really like Jet Girl. John couldn't stop grinning every time Tank Girl sassed someone with another zinger. 

But toward the end a bad guy got jammed right in the chest with a water-sucking device, his face going hollow in seconds, and John tensed up beside Rodney on the couch. 

"Oh, I'm—crap, I forgot all about this part," Rodney said in an undertone. Ronon and Teyla both went quiet as well. Ronon raised the remote in question.

"He got what's coming," Ronon said, his voice a little doubtful, and John laughed harshly, and the moment passed—the little girl got rescued and the rock music started up with comic book credits. Rodney posited he hadn't screwed up too badly, although he wasn't altogether certain. 

John stood, moving stiffly, and went to the head, and Ronon and Teyla made their goodbyes, Ronon punching Rodney in the shoulder with thanks for the film: "Got any more like that?" and Teyla also requesting more with song and dance numbers. Rodney made a mental note to download the Busby Berkeley and Nicholas Brothers' oeuvres onto Teyla's laptop, but planned to next screen _Once More With Feeling_ for the group.

After they left, Rodney hovered by John's door, laptop cradled in his arms, unwilling to go just yet. John was pacing around restlessly, checking his windows as if they were a possible point of entry. They weren't—Atlantis' windows were sealed via the control panel on the door, and any breach would immediately register on a dozen different displays.

John stopped his perimeter check, if that was what it was, and frowned at him. "You need something?"

"That was, uh, a good movie." Rodney winced.

"I liked the tank," John said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Could use one of those." He smirked like a chess move, and Rodney bit his lip, examining the bruises on John's face, the bandage on his arm.

"Ronon seemed to enjoy it when she snapped that guy's neck with her legs."

"Yeah, that was cool."

"And she was, hmm, good with the snappy banter. While being interrogated and...and tortured and the like."

John's biceps were twitching almost rhythmically. It was a little mesmerizing. "She's a spunky one, all right."

This was going absolutely nowhere. 

"Well, I guess I'll..." Rodney gestured vaguely. John gave him a slow nod, and Rodney turned and waved the door open.

"Rodney."

"Yes?" Rodney awaited the expected lambasting for inserting his clodhopper, size twelve, exactly where he always managed to.

But all John said was, "Thanks, you know. It was a good pick."

Rodney nodded and departed.

:::

Dr. Keller insisted they wait two days for Colonel Sheppard to be field fit once again before they could revisit M4H-255, which made Rodney reluctant to collate his data on the outpost, because sure enough—as soon as Sam got her eyes on his full report in re: the possibility of ZPM production, she decided to lead her own expedition to Planet Ripper, as Sheppard had taken to calling it. 

Rodney watched with envy the next day as Sam and Lorne's jumper dipped down from the bay and went plunging through the wormhole.

"Jealous?" John asked from their perch on the balcony above central command.

"It's your fault, you know," Rodney said. "If you hadn't gotten yourself beaten up by a couple of lousy koala-roos—"

"Is that what we're calling them?"

"That could be us heading back there. The base materials Atlantis is constructed from were mined on that planet, not to mention a pure deposit of energy crystals." Among so many other possibilities hinted at from the outpost data he'd managed to download and translate. 

"Yeah, sorry about the getting injured thing. I'll put that on my list of shit to avoid."

"You do that." Rodney didn't look over, and after a while, John bumped into him as he pushed away from the railing and sauntered off.

:::

Sam Carter came back with energy readings from a goddamned ZPM. Oh, due to entropy it probably only contained a quarter charge, but further analysis of Rodney's data made her certain they'd found the ZPM manufacturing facility, and Sam was hopeful with a little careful excavation and deeper study of the site they'd be able to begin building ZPMs of their own.

Rodney should be thrilled, and he was, of course, but he was also sick with envy. So close, so very close, and it was Sam who'd ultimately found his holy grail.

After he offered up his congratulations with the rest of the crowd of overjoyed scientists and gate room personnel, instead of going to the spontaneous party, he slunk off to his quarters for a soak. 

He got his tub filled up and his latest printouts of _The Quarterly Review of Cosmology_ and _The Annals of Improbable Research_ waiting for his amusement on the shelf beside his towel. All he lacked was an ice-cold beer, which he pulled from his mini-fridge, and then he carefully dumped in the proper measure of bath suds before testing the temperature of the water. 

With conditions perfect, he shut off the water flow and stepped into the tub.

As the warmth soothed the ache of his tight shoulder muscles, he sipped his beer and tried to ponder the latest data from the Hubble and how it supported modeling a homogeneous, isotropic universe, but instead his thoughts slid persistently to that small stretch of skin exposed whenever Sheppard reached up to shove supplies into the overhead bin in the jumper, and the trail of hair on his stomach leading downward toward his belt—the only thing, apparently, keeping his pants on his too-narrow hips.

It wasn't that Rodney was obsessed, per se, but he could count in single digits the number of times he'd seen the bare skin of John's torso, flashes here and there, or John's feet, stripped of boots and socks, when Rodney stopped by his quarters late on some pretext. John's strangely vulnerable anklebones and crooked little toe—had he broken it on some previous mission or surfing with that ridiculous board of his? 

Rodney had on many occasions, though, seen the small of John's back as his shirt pulled free of his BDU pants, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the beginning swell of his ass cheeks, and it was this image Rodney fixated on now as he put down his beer and used the soap bar to lather his hard-on. 

He imagined those pants succumbing to gravity at last, revealing a tight, small ass that would fit within the palms of his hands; imagined spreading those cheeks and slipping his cock between them, slick with lubricant, and sliding forward and back, pressing the firm muscles together for the blissful friction, while John cussed him out for being a goddamned tease.

Rodney groaned and stroked himself a little faster, the water frothing under his hand. _Sheppard's long, naked back, the parabolic curves of his shoulder blades, the fractal splash of his dark hair marking his pillow, as Rodney thrust between his cheeks._ Rodney's pleasure rose to a climax and he slowed to thumb just under the head of his dick, coaxing himself over the edge in a sharp peak that forced a small sound of satisfaction from his lips. 

His imaginary Sheppard had come spattered chaotically over his skin. Rodney would feel guilty, but he'd already moved on to ponder the spatial curvature parameter of the universe and how easy it would be to prove it to be zero, with omega less than unity, if he hooked up Atlantis' diagnostic array to one of the jumpers. 

Of course, there was no one Rodney could share the discovery with outside the scientists of the SGC. 

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, and reached for his bath scrub. 

:::

Sheppard was looking chipper, the bruising faded to a patch of yellow on his cheek, when Sam radioed in from the M4H-255 excavation. Rodney hadn't been moping around the control room; he had a perfectly legitimate reason for being there—his diagnostic array plan could prove once and finally, through the Friedmann equations, that the universe was still expanding—but he rushed to Chuck's console to join in on the call.

"...obvious they require a full-gene carrier capable of initializing key consoles of the site," Sam was saying. "We'll need you here in order to get them up so we can manufacture our first ZPM, Colonel. I can send Lorne back with the jumper to pick you up."

John started to respond, but Rodney shoved him aside because he knew what Sam was really up to—she wanted to cut Rodney out of it entirely! She wanted to steal John for her own purposes and be the first to create a ZPM from scratch. With the universe's foremost authority on the subject standing right here. Rodney sputtered incoherently, almost mindless with rage, but John said, "A moment, Colonel," and hit the switch.

"Hey," John said, "I've got this." 

Rodney fumed, staring with pure distrust. John just smirked and hit the button again. 

"You keep Lorne, Colonel. My team and I will be out as soon as I'm cleared."

After the barest hesitation, Sam responded, "Make it so, Colonel," and the radio clicked off.

John grinned at him.

"Well, all right then," Rodney said, and started pushing him toward the infirmary. "Hurry. If Keller clears you, we can head out today."

"Rodney, we don't even know if Teyla's in the city." John leaned back against his hands, recalcitrant as a balky kid, but Rodney was pretty sure he was just trying to be annoying; Sheppard had to be just as eager to see the installation.

"It doesn't matter, we can swing by and pick her up."

"Oh, we can, huh?" It sounded like John was smiling.

Dr. Keller, however, was not when she caught sight of them entering her infirmary. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow, Colonel."

"I'm feeling much better, Doc," Sheppard said earnestly, and she pulled a face, looking half-exasperated, half-charmed.

"It's imperative we go offworld today," Rodney said. "And he's fine—doesn't he look fine? The man is positively perky."

"And yet, oddly enough, we insist on using actual diagnostic tools to determine things like that."

"Fine, fine—get going with it while I prep for the mission. Sheppard, I'll meet you at the ready room." Rodney ignored their twin raised eyebrows and went to gather his gear—his favorite tablet and connecting cords all coiled handily in their velcroed pockets within the padded carrying case. He made sure his tablet had a fresh charge and the latest adaptive algorithm for Ancient translations provided by Linguistics before zipping up his bag and changing into his offworld uniform. He wore the lightweight one because for a moon, M4H-255 was hot and a little dry.

John must have radioed Ronon, because Rodney found him in the ready room stacking water bottles and PowerBars into a pack. Rodney noted with pleased surprise that Ronon had remembered to grab some extra peanut butter chocolate.

"Thanks," Rodney said. "Do you know if Teyla is already in the city?"

"Yeah. She's just finishing up yoga class."

"Yoga? You're kidding." Rodney barely had time to process that weird idea when Teyla walked in wearing what, indeed, looked like yoga pants and a T-shirt. 

"Rodney, Ronon." She nodded hello and retrieved her gear from her locker. "I will change quickly." She disappeared into the bathroom.

"Okay, that's just...odd." 

"Why? You should try it. Makes you a better fighter."

Rodney was still struggling with the image of Ronon in a yoga pose when Sheppard jogged in. 

"So?" Rodney asked him.

"No problem. We're good to go." John took the vest Ronon handed him and strapped it on quickly. "It's about two hours later on the planet, so we have around six hours of daylight left. Plus, Sam says they've set up a whole operation over there, lights, tents, the whole deal. Took them a while to excavate their way in."

"What about the koala-roos?" Rodney wasn't ashamed to admit he wasn't looking forward to an encounter.

"Sam set up the jumper with a motion sensor to shield the entry to the canyon. Apparently, it sees them coming and repels the little fuckers."

"Oh. That's quite brilliant, actually."

"Yeah, I know." John grinned at him and then propped up one foot to put on his holster. Rodney caught himself staring and looked away, instead fiddling with his pack until the straps weren't chafing. 

Teyla came out and started talking to Ronon about him achieving something called the "one legged king pigeon." It sounded incredibly painful, and Rodney tuned her out as they all headed up toward the jumper bay.

"Carter really has some nerve," Rodney said as Sheppard took the controls and dropped them through the bay doors. "First, she snakes the site I discovered, and then she plans to use _my_ resource to access it. Right under my nose!"

"Your resource, huh?" A slow smile took over John's face. "You do know Zelenka uses me, too?"

Rodney sniffed. "Only with my express and explicit permission."

"Is that right? Guess Sam didn't know she needed a permission slip." John's grin broadened and he hit his radio. "Flight, this is Jumper Two. Are we cleared for M4H-255?"

 _"Roger, Jumper Two. You are go for M4H-255,"_ Campbell replied.

 _"Don't forget, Colonel—no heavy lifting."_ Dr. Keller's voice broke in over the comm.

"Yes, ma'am," Sheppard said, studiously ignoring Ronon's snort.

The gate flashed white then steady blue, and Sheppard jetted them through.

"Atlantis, we are through," he said once they'd cleared the wormhole. "We'll talk to you again at check-in. Sheppard out." He pulled up the HUD. "We've got a ways to go, folks. I hope everybody went before we left."

"Oh, that's nice." Rodney settled back and pulled out his tablet. "Anyway, I think it's perfectly reasonable to expect Carter to respect the professional boundaries of resource allocation. You're on my team, hence..." 

"So," Teyla said, leaning forward, "if Colonel Carter wished to take me off-world for a trade agreement, she would have to check with you first, Rodney?" 

"Well, no," Rodney said. "But then, trade doesn't fall under the sciences purview. I'm the scientific leader of the team. You're the diplomatic leader, Ronon the tactical leader, Sheppard the, uh—"

" _Leader-_ leader," Sheppard said somewhat sarcastically. 

"Exactly."

Ronon made another amused sound. 

Rodney scowled. "Oh, don't give me that. So, I'm a little hierarchical—"

"No, hey. I'm feeling warm and fuzzy over here." Well, at least John sounded amused. Actually, more than amused. "I promise no feeling up the Ancient artifacts with any of those other scientists."

Rodney chewed air for a second.

"Coming up on the coordinates," Sheppard said, thankfully obviating the need for any comeback. "Wow. They really have been busy over here."

There were three camouflaged tents set up within the narrow canyon, and a jumper wedged at its opening with another one parked just inside. John set them down beside the second jumper and popped the rear hatch.

"All ashore that's going ashore." 

Ronon and Teyla both gave John looks as they exited the jumper. Rodney gathered up his gear and stood. 

"Very funny. You keep coming up with old ones."

John grinned and gave him a gentle shove heading down the ramp, then caught the strap of Rodney's vest to steady him when he stumbled a little at the bottom. Rodney couldn't help the warm pressure in his chest, but he categorically refused to allow any signs of it in his voice as he said, "Come along, Colonel. Miraculous discoveries wait for no man."

"Or woman," Sheppard said under his breath, because as they entered the facility behind Teyla and Ronon, Sam Carter's blond head was evident, bent over an array of consoles, and she looked up immediately and flashed them a smile, friendly and eager.

"Finally," she said. She lifted her hand and waved them over. "Colonel Sheppard, if you wouldn't mind."

Rodney burst ahead of them all to crowd in next to Sam, keen to see the configuration of the console that controlled the factory.

"Rodney," Sam said acerbically. "It's a little crowded, and we don't really need you right now—"

"Oh, really? Because I am the foremost expert on Ancient technology, in case you've forgotten."

"Yeah, well, right now that tech is dead as a doornail, so why don't you go examine the rest of the facility while..." She elbowed Rodney out of the way and waved Sheppard in. "John?"

This was really too much. As John blinked and headed around the side of the console, Rodney had a vision of exactly how it would go down. Sheppard would get the system fired up and bring up the various functions, and Carter would record all the data and then in her, _oh, I'm so in charge of things_ kind of way, she'd run a "test" of the system and pop out the Pegasus Galaxy's very first brand-spanking new ZPM in the last ten thousand years while everyone else stood by gaping in awe.

"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said, barring John with one arm, "being on my team and an ATA carrier, is one of _my_ resources as Chief Science Officer of the expedition. He's under my purview. You can't just commandeer him."

Sam stared at him with doll blue eyes. Oh, he had her. John shifted uncomfortably next to him.

But Sam crossed her arms, her expression turning amused. "I think I pretty much can, Rodney, seeing as I'm his CO, I'm head of the expedition, and a lead scientist myself—I have purview coming out my ass."

"Oh, right: you're leading the expedition? From out here in the field, working on a science mission? That's perfectly logical," Rodney said. "You can't claim him as a resource when it has nothing to do with your responsibilities." 

John cleared his throat.

Sam turned her head and looked over at him. Rodney followed suit, and saw John's eyebrows were making a run for his hairline. He and Ronon and Teyla looked...fascinated, as if they were watching a hockey game. Or maybe a grisly, hockey-masked teen slasher movie.

"Perhaps we can proceed with our little science project," Rodney said stiffly. "If, as expedition head, you'll allow me and my team to continue with the work we started on our mission to this moon. Now that Sheppard has been cleared for duty."

Sam's eyes narrowed and she bit the corner of her lip. Then she gave an ironic bow and backed away. 

Rodney wasted no time at all grabbing John's arm and shoving him in front of the console.

"Sam," Teyla said behind them, "if you wouldn't mind, I would like to discuss the possibility of opening a trade agreement with P9H-568, the Pou'na. According to Halling, they have a surplus of tubers harvested this year..."

"Okay, Sheppard. Do your thing," Rodney said after he'd hooked up his tablet. "I want a base initiation sequence, and then a console diagnostic."

"Sir, yessir," Sheppard said, amusement in his tone.

It all went exactly as Rodney had hoped, the data dumping directly to his tablet as John concentrated and the console lit up under his hands. The translation program worked almost effectively, giving Rodney enough insight into the workings of the system to reverse engineer the construction process and tag the necessary commands and follow them back to the appropriate keys. 

John loitered, his presence teasing at Rodney's consciousness and distracting him slightly, but not enough to pull him out of the zone he was in. No, it was the tight crick in his neck that flashed into a hot burn when he turned his head too quickly that did that.

"Ow!" he said, and grabbed his neck to knead at it. He looked up and realized the room had long since cleared of anyone but him and John, who was leaning against the console and playing with his hand-held gaming system. 

"You all right, there?" John said, raising his eyes briefly.

"Where is everyone?"

"They went to grab some chow. You want me to bring you something?"

"No, I..." It seemed appropriate, somehow, that it was just the two of them here at this moment. "I'm ready."

"Ready?" John pocketed his game and stepped closer.

"Yes. Yes." Excitement hummed low in Rodney's belly. "This is it."

One more step, and John was within touching distance. "And?"

"And...uh. I have the sequence, but it needs you, as the initializer, to run it. All you have to do is press these four buttons to key up the containment unit and prime the subspace diversion access rods, and then you hit this triangular key here, and...well, it should work. All the systems are in the green."

John nodded slowly. "And it happens here at the facility?"

"Yes. So probably we should have everyone evacuate just in case."

"All right." John hit his comm and said, "This is Sheppard. We're getting ready to run the first test. Advise all extraneous personnel evacuate to Atlantis until we have completed the first run."

 _"Copy that, Colonel. We're bugging out,"_ Major Lorne said over the comm. There was a pause. _"Colonel Carter says good luck."_

"You should go too, you know," John said to Rodney, still standing far too close. "You don't need to be here."

And it was as if a ridiculous number of incidents suddenly settled into new parameters in Rodney's mind. Of course, imperfect input could invariably be blamed for imperfect output, but only if the data testing procedures were faulty, and in Rodney's case, he'd been sloppy in his unit testing. Oh, so very, very sloppy. Because clear as day, the words John was saying matched the actions he was taking. 

"No. I think I'll stay," Rodney said, doing the same.

"That's stupid."

"No. It isn't." Rodney smiled a little to match the uneven smile on John's face. "And, after all," he said, backing away to break the moment, "I could be useful in the event something goes wrong."

"Ah. Right."

"Right."

Ronon came in then, followed by Teyla. "You guys need us here?" Ronon said. 

"Thanks, buddy, but I think we'll be all right," John said. "You guys head back with Lorne and we'll give you a call in a little while."

"Like when we have a brand new ZPM." Rodney bounced on his toes, and Teyla smiled.

"Good luck, Rodney," she said. "I know how long you've wished for this."

"Thanks, Teyla." 

And then they were alone, and after Lorne had given confirmation that everyone else was clear of the moon and back on Atlantis, John raised his eyebrows at Rodney.

"Right, so: this sequence." He brushed his fingers in the air over the four buttons. "Like so. Then, when they're all amber, then you hit this big one."

"Got it." 

John hit the first, the second and third, and they lit up. When he hit the fourth, there was a hum, and a loud thunk, and then the entire facility seemed the thrum under Rodney's feet. It was the priming of the subspace rods, he knew. 

The look John gave him was grave, but also a little ironic. He said, "Just so you know—if this doesn't work out, it's been really cool working with you." John paused and said, "I mean it."

 _Garbage in,_ Rodney thought. "Ditto," he said, smirking, and John smirked back, and then turned toward the console and depressed the big triangular key.

There was another thunk, and then nothing. No explosions, no fanfare. The humming didn't stop, though, and on the console, the light surrounding the key cycled rapidly, but slowing a little on each pass—the Ancient equivalent of a progress bar.

Rodney grinned. "Well, this should take a while."

John's shoulders relaxed. "What do you say I go get us something to eat?"

:::

The food was cold, but the company was...above par. John was more relaxed than usual, and was joking about the koala-roos and the likelihood of using the planet as a training ground for marines fresh from the Milky Way.

Rodney would much rather speak of other things, but his data set was incomplete and they were offworld, the reason he'd backed off to begin with. He was impatient, though, and so was distracted. The conversation tapered off into silence.

John was more than comfortable with silence. Rodney had noticed that and wondered at its source. So much so he had been tempted on more than one occasion to hack into Sheppard's records, but resisted the impulse because he knew once he had done so it would be impossible for any illicit knowledge not to color his words and actions toward his teammate.

But now he wanted nothing more than to break that eternal silence with questions he was sure would make John clam up completely. 

Thankfully, before he could open his stupid mouth, the console let out a chime.

"That sounded like something good," Sheppard said, bounding to his feet. Rodney followed and leaned over the console.

The triangular key was glowing a steady amber. 

"It's finished," Rodney said. "The ZPM has been created."

"That's, uh, great." Sheppard rubbed his hands together. "So, where the heck is it?"

"You know what? I haven't the faintest idea." They stared at each other, Rodney fighting laughter.

"Well, don't look at me."

Ultimately, Rodney had to dig out his tablet, which had long ago been keyed for the energy signature ZPMs emanated. With it in hand, they both headed down the corridor and into the factory area of the facility, Sheppard armed with his P-90 just in case. It took a few fits and starts through the maze of equipment, but eventually they came upon a wall of blinking diodes. The area lit up upon their approach, and Rodney gestured toward a panel in the wall.

"That's it."

"You do it," Sheppard said. "It's your baby."

"I'm pretty sure it won't let me—the ATA security is pretty rigid—"

"Right. I'll open it, you take it out." Sheppard pressed his hand against the panel, and it opened smoothly, a drawer opening to reveal a glowing, jagged tower of pure energy.

Rodney's breath caught. 

"You really did it," Sheppard said. "Unbelievable."

Rodney grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze, then shoved the tablet at him so he could lean over and pick up the brand new ZPM. 

"The first new ZPM in ten thousand years," Rodney said, holding it up. 

"Hell. Let's get back to Atlantis, because I'm buying you a beer."

They carefully closed up shop, shutting down all the systems in sequence, and then Rodney wrapped up all his gear and took the ZPM into his hands once again. Sheppard was leaning against the wall waiting for him, a soft expression on his face.

"What?" Rodney couldn't even make the effort to sound cranky; he was utterly high on their accomplishment.

"Nothing; just—this was a good day," Sheppard said, and led the way to the jumper.

:::

The celebration back in Atlantis was everything Rodney could have hoped for, but he was careful to share the credit with Sam and Lorne's team for the excavation, and he put in a quiet word of thanks to Sam for letting him take back the reins after Sheppard's recovery. 

She cocked her head and then gave him a rueful smile. "No problem. We did kind of jump your claim there, McKay."

"Yes, well—science waits for no one, I suppose." 

They shook on it.

"Sam, you do realize Earth is going to be asking for more ZPMs; probably more than we can risk the safety of expedition for on manufacturing. Spending too much time on that planet and with that particular energy signature will draw the attention of the Wraith."

"I guess I'll have to push back, that's all."

Ronon walked over, a glass of champagne looking oddly delicate in his hand. 

"You know, we would have stayed with you guys," he said, sounding disgruntled. "You didn't have to send us away."

Sam gave Rodney a look that said, _This one is all yours,_ and excused herself.

"I know you would have," Rodney said. "But if something went wrong, we needed you back in Atlantis to keep fighting the Wraith, right? In my name. Because I'd be, you know, dead."

Ronon cracked a sly grin. "I'd fight with your name on my lips, McKay." 

"Good." Rodney coughed. "That's good, then." 

They clinked their glasses together and drank.

:::

Life became very busy of course, with the new ZPM in place and specious interruptions of Rodney's critical work, but in between flurries of activity he started to notice that something weird was happening. It was difficult to quantify it, because the moments were so very brief and the sensory input was so different from what Rodney was accustomed to, but ever since Planet Ripper it seemed as if John had started touching Rodney differently.

The problem was the incidences were so sudden and transitory. The two of them walking down the hallway, when _a propos_ of nothing, John's hand would brush over Rodney's flank while Rodney was in mid-sentence. A touch so light and momentary Rodney would hardly even register it until it was long past, and then he would find himself stopping in a sub-clause of a paragraph, losing his train of thought.

"And then Midisky said," John would prompt him, and off Rodney would go, continuing onward, the ghost of fingertips haunting his side.

Or Rodney would be in the lab leaning over his desk when John would saunter in and start talking about this ordnance wahoozit or a field rotation schedule whatever, and Rodney would be so deeply into the derivation of the equations for the intensity of direct beam radiation that he would sort of mumble and nod, giving John about ten percent of his attention. And then Rodney would lift his head about five minutes in with a, "Huh?" thinking it was the fresh coffee he smelled, only later realizing it was because John had ever so lightly drifted his knuckles over the back of Rodney's neck.

It surely was something to think about. Because, Rodney reminded himself, Sheppard's vector of communication wasn't so much with the words. Words were garbage in, but actions, well...

Actions were pretty much everything.

Finally, one afternoon a couple of weeks after Rodney went down in history by building a ZPM, he tracked Sheppard down in his quarters to ask him to fill in some details on an after action report. It was some trade negotiation that, admittedly, Rodney had found too boring to pay attention to, and now he needed some of the names filled in.

He charged into Sheppard's quarters after the door opened and went straight to the desk to put down his computer. That was why he failed to notice at first that John wasn't fully dressed. John had obviously just gotten out of the shower—his hair was damp and he was wearing a black shirt with a pirate design on it, silky blue track pants, and his feet were bare.

Rodney's eyes seemed trapped on John's bare feet for an inordinate amount of time, especially on that bent little toe, until all of John's toes wiggled and broke his distraction. He lifted his gaze and found John giving him a bemused grin, his head tilted as if to say, _"So that's what it takes?"_

Feeling slightly giddy, Rodney set himself in front of the computer and started talking about the trade mission, asking John to fill in some of the blanks.

"You know, you could have gone to Teyla for this," John said, his voice still a little bemused.

"Yes, well," Rodney said. "I'm here now, aren't I?" 

This time, he sensed it just before it happened, and he turned and caught John's hand before it reached his neck, so instead he ended up with John's fingers trapped against his chest. 

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Rodney heard himself babbling, "So, we're going to do this, aren't we? I mean, really do this, enough with the Victorian-esque touching and flirting, as much as I'm enjoying it, and I am—thoroughly—but aren't you ever going to—"

"Actually." John flexed his fingers against Rodney's chest. "I was waiting for you to finally notice, and you'd either give me the green light, or you'd make my toilet explode."

Rodney cocked his head. "You don't actually _use_ the sonic bidet, do you?"

"Why not? It's awesome."

"I can't believe I'm considering sleeping with you." 

John grinned brightly, his eyes crinkling, and suddenly Rodney's insides went hot, like tungsten wire was coiled in his guts. 

"But you are, yeah?" John slipped his hand up and tugged at Rodney's shoulder, and Rodney stood up. His legs felt a little wobbly, as if someone had replaced them with cooked linguini, and he clutched at John's chest for balance. John's hands came up to his shoulders to steady him.

Something about their positions, about the shirt John was wearing and the expression on his face—concern, tension, affection—struck a chord, and a memory Rodney didn't even know he'd retained flashed into his mind. Of being lost. Of panicking.

"John," Rodney said aloud. John was safety and salvation. John would hold him together. "I forgot. Jesus, I'm an idiot," Rodney said.

John was frowning now—no wonder, since Rodney was giving him garbage input, but that was easily fixed. Rodney leaned forward and placed his lips on the troubled curl of John's mouth. 

After a moment, John responded, his hand sliding up Rodney's shoulder to the back of his neck—no fleeting touch, this, but steady and warm—and held him close as John returned the kiss, his lips moving over Rodney's, his stubble bristling against Rodney's cheek. A sweet kiss, but Rodney pushed impatiently into John's mouth, earning a soft groan and John's other hand dropping down to grab Rodney's ass.

"Jesus, Rodney."

That was a little more like it.

Rodney's dick ached. The heat coiling in his gut had gone white-hot. From the way John was shoving his hard-on against Rodney's hip, he wasn't alone in that feeling. He pulled away, his lips feeling raw, and started stripping off his uniform.

John stepped back, his expression somewhat dazed. When he saw what Rodney was up to, he reached over his back and pulled off his shirt.

"Be careful with that," Rodney said. "I like that shirt." 

"Yeah?" John grinned and carefully folded the shirt before dropping it on his dresser.

"Where did you get it?" Rodney kicked off his shoes and started on his shirt.

John's face went a little blank. "It was a gift from Holland's kid brother, Erik."

"Holland was that injured guy you thought Teyla was. Back on the planet with the Wraith device."

"Yeah, that was him." 

And who would have thought it? John answering questions. Maybe because they were specific enough? Rodney shelved the thought, because John had just shucked his track pants, and he wasn't wearing underwear, and that was quite a sight. Quite a sight. 

Except John, maybe impatient with Rodney's questions, or just with how long it was taking Rodney to get undressed, moved in close and started unbuttoning Rodney's pants.

"I do know how to undress myself, you know," Rodney said.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Rodney had to agree, because John was touching him, sly fingers brushing Rodney's belly, his groin, his ass, while he got Rodney's pants and boxers off. And then John was kissing him again and walking him backward toward the bed.

"I see you've upgraded," Rodney said, feeling a little breathless as he squirmed his way up toward the pillows. "Your old bed could have been classed as a torture device."

"What do you know about my old bed?" John said, one eyebrow cocked as he leaned over Rodney.

"I might have been...giving it a little thought. In passing," Rodney said, and then he was being kissed again, ferociously. Apparently, his admission had removed any final reservations John might have had about Rodney's intentions, because he laid himself on top of Rodney, their legs tangling together, their cocks trapped tightly between them, and started thrusting as if he couldn't wait another moment.

Rodney was behind that sentiment one hundred percent. This was fine, this was awesome—the muscles of John's back moving under his hands, and the damp, warm weight of him pinning Rodney to the mattress, and the way his pubic bone made the perfect shelf for Rodney to grind up against with his aching cock. He couldn't believe this was happening; he was possessed by a sense of unreality that was only balanced out by the sensory, hungry pleasure of John's body squirming against his, rough and soft and hard and just a little bit sweaty. 

"Fuck, that's perfect," John said in his ear. "You feel good." 

"Likewise," Rodney said, panting it out, and he curled his legs around John's thighs. For some reason, that made John moan out loud and dig in even harder, and John's hands slipped down under Rodney's ass and squeezed.

"Oh," Rodney said, and started to come. "Oh, _nice_." His come made everything slicker, and he heard John groan in happy appreciation as they continued to slide together, cock to groin.

"Rodney," John said, and he stopped moving as he came, his breath hitching in Rodney's ear. Rodney felt John's dick pulse softly against him, and stroked his back, an ache of tenderness in his throat.

"God." John flopped to his back beside Rodney, but his arm stayed overlapping, his fingers resting on Rodney's hand. "Not too shabby."

"Not too—" Rodney bit his tongue. _Garbage in._ "I'll have you know I am a sex god," Rodney said. "They literally line up the block to come to my yard."

The bed shook a little. "I'm sure of it." John's fingers played with the back of Rodney's hand. "You've definitely got the booty."

Rodney sniffed. "I'm more than just a sweet ass, you know."

The shaking got worse, and Rodney actually heard a snort. "Oh, I'm pretty sure of that. I've just spent three and half years trying to figure you the hell out, McKay."

For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Rodney that John might have had the same difficulties he was having. 

"That's crazy. I'm WYSIWYG. Completely transparent."

"Oh my God. That is such complete bullshit."

"It is not! I always say it like it is, whereas some people—"

"Is this a fight? Are we having our first fight? Because usually I'm more than five minutes into a relationship before—"

"Oh no, you didn't just say—"

"I might've." John gripped his wrist. "Don't flip out or anything."

"I'm...surprisingly amenable to the suggestion."

"Alrighty then."

They were quiet for a long moment, as if both of them were afraid to breathe, and then John started playing with Rodney's fingers again. Rodney realized that maybe John had a thing for his hands. Which was, well, appealing. And maybe meant John would be considerate of Rodney's preoccupation with his toes.

"What happened to your pinkie toe?"

"What?"

"Your little toe. It's missing a nail."

"Oh. Boot camp, jammed it coming down off the wall. Lost the nail a couple of weeks later."

Apparently, specific questions were a go.

"I need another shower," John said. "As fun as this lying around thing is. But..." He turned suddenly and gave Rodney a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Rain check on the post-fight sex?"

"We didn't have a fight." 

"Close enough for jazz." John grinned and then rolled out of bed. He paused, half turned away. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I mean, you can use the shower after me. Or join me, if you want."

"Jesus. You're going to give me conniptions." Still, John had, eventually, gotten to the point of it, so Rodney would give him credit for that much. He got out of bed, groaning a little at the ache of newly abused muscles. It was a good ache, though, and he was smiling a little as he joined John in the bathroom. 

John had already started up the shower and was soaping his chest. He gave Rodney a welcoming grin as he stepped past the sonic curtain that kept the water in the shower area.

"Watch it," Rodney said when John approached him with the soap. "I have very sensitive skin and your marine-issue might give me—oh." The soap was Athosian. Of course, John had probably heard him griping in the past, but still, in this different context, Rodney hadn't anticipated John would remember. "That's...you're not an idiot."

John was giving him a patient look, still waiting with sudsy hands. "WSYIWYG, huh?"

"Shut up." He stepped closer and let John soap him down. It was very pleasant. It was more than pleasant, it was comfortable, like being in his tub, and Rodney found his thoughts wandering to interesting places, with the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture popping into his head and a possible new approach swimming just at the edge of reach.

"Hey," John said, and Rodney drifted back with a very good beginning nicely solidified. "You were smiling," John said, offering him a towel. His own was wrapped around his waist, and Rodney was clean and the water was off.

"Yes. Oh, no, sorry, I was thinking about number theory." Guilt made him feel suddenly cold.

"Yeah, it didn't look like a sexy smile. More like a math genius smile." John was still smirking though, and didn't seem at all angered by Rodney's distraction. "You up for some chow?"

The world tilted suddenly and slotted into a new configuration. It was dizzying, and Rodney put his hand on the wall to steady himself. 

John was frowning again, looking worried.

The delicate, inchoate bubble in Rodney's chest nearly choked him, but he spoke around it. 

"Just so you know," Rodney said, "I value you. This. I'll try my utmost not to screw it up too badly."

"Jesus, Rodney," John said, his voice low and breathless. "You're not—you won't." He stepped forward and tucked Rodney's towel around his waist. "Me, too, okay? Me, too." His arms were still around Rodney's waist, and somehow, suddenly, they were hugging, half-naked and wet, John's hair dripping onto Rodney's cheek.

The bubble in Rodney's chest subsided, and he could breathe again.

"I'm cold," he mumbled into John's shoulder. "Let's get dressed and get some food."

"Sounds like a plan."

So that was what they did. And all during dinner, Rodney kept catching himself lost in a single thought, his eyes staring at John but not seeing. He would come back to himself to find John looking at him quizzically, a lopsided smile on his face, and then John would shake his head and go back to his roast beast and fauxtatoes. 

When Rodney was sick, dying of a parasite in his brain, John hadn't let him say goodbye. Now, Rodney thought, he could trust John to be equally stubborn. Even if this new thing was delicate and easily damaged, poorly wrought and confusing in its engineering, John wasn't the sort of guy to let anything go. 

Not even Rodney. 

"We good to go?" John said, nodding at Rodney's tray.

"Yes. We are," Rodney said. 

It was clearly true.

 

_End._

Comments welcome here or [back at the Comm](http://sga-saturday.livejournal.com/150440.html).

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written over a sickly holiday with Mischief's cheerleading. This was not always the pure and righteous help you might think:  
> ``  
> Mischief: It's a good thing Atlantis doesn't have bidets.  
> xt3: Why can't they have bidets? Maybe they have sonic bidets.  
> Mischief: That would be good for vibrating all those little bits off their butt hairs.  
> xt3: I don't imagine Rodney would want it near his parts.  
> Mischief: His poor boy parts.  
> xt3: His any parts. All those vibrations near sensitive tissues. Maybe that's the name of Atlantis' rock band: Rodney's Sensitive Tissues.  
> Mischief: ::dies::  
> [American Science and Surplus Catalog](http://www.sciplus.com/) — It's Think Geek for the real geek.
> 
> [The Annals of Improbable Research](http://www.improbable.com/) — get on their mini-AIR mailing list for a monthly newsletter of hilarity. My favorite bit has always been the [Luxuriant Hair Club for Scientists](http://www.improbable.com/category/lfhcfs-hair-club/).


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